Steven Franklin, Pulitzer prize winner. That's what they'll call me. When I finally publish all this work and show the world that there really is a sinister group, run completely by women. Women bent on taking over the world behind the scenes.
My doorbell rang, and I checked the camera. There was a delivery driver with a package. A FEMALE delivery driver. A few months ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about this, now I knew better.
"Just leave it on the porch," I said through the intercom.
"It's marked time-sensitive, Sir, I can't leave it without a signature, otherwise we have to send it back."
"Who is it from, please?"
"It's marked Blackmon Sorority Partners, Sir," she looked directly into the door camera with a Cheshire Cat grin. "It's urgent, Sir, I'll just slip it in your mail-slot."
Damn, damn, damn, damn. I ran from the study as quickly as I could to try to keep anything SHE wanted to send me into my home. I came around the corner to the foyer just in time to see the book sized shipping box hit the floor and explode into a riot of pink and purple smoke.
The now gas masked delivery girl then kicked in my front door into the thick chemical cloud and leveled a large, menacing pistol at me. I spun back around just in time to see an enormous dart lodge itself in the wall next to my shoulder.
I sprinted toward the back door. As I got into the kitchen, a similar scene was unfolding as a soda can sized object had just come through the kitchen window and landed in the sink. Time seemed to slow a little bit and then the canister erupted in another cloud of pastel colored chemicals which churned to the ceiling and quickly began to fill the small kitchen.
I had to make it to the basement. I could get out the crawlspace and go for the car. I got to the stairs and locked the basement door behind me. The way my assailant had gone through the front door, I didn't give it much durability, but it was at least a delay.
I grabbed my laptop off the desk and ran to the only window that was big enough to crawl out. When I got there, I saw a pair of boots, standing right there. Then I saw two more pair of boots walking around all of the basement windows.
I wasn't going anywhere, maybe I could still get back up the stairs. I heard the door give way and saw a few little pieces of wood fly down the stairs. But then there was nothing. No sound, no grenades, no smoke, nothing.
"Who's there and what do you want?" I asked.
A set of plastic zip-tie handcuffs was thrown down the stairs.
"Put them on."
"I'm not tying myself up for you."
"I can knock you out and we can carry you up, or you can put those on. Show you're willing to cooperate. If you don't, then the next time you're conscious, you'll be so programmed you won't even remember your name."
I put the cuffs around my wrists and pulled them snug with my teeth. The masked delivery girl walked slowly down the stairs trailing a faint haze of pink behind her. She carried the plume of smoke down the stairs like a veil. Just from the whiffs of smoke swirling around her, I could feel my head start to get fuzzy.
I had to admit, that there was something sexy about the semi-tactical Lycra and fiber outfit she was wearing and the heavy combat boots set it off. I could see how she could inspire the right behavior from a captive just from the look. She was carrying an over-sized pistol resting on her shoulder. I assumed it was the dart gun.
She walked up to me. She stood face to face and looked at me for what seemed to be a long time. The cloud began to gather around her.
"Bend over, you're too tall."
I bent forward and she slipped a full-face respirator over my head and secured it in place. Then she motioned me up the stairs into the thickening chemical fog. My house was completely enveloped in a thick pink cloud. She walked me to the side door, out of sight of the neighbors where a black SUV was parked.
